by David Lender
Yassar and Sasha pulled up to the front door of the chateau in his black Mercedes limousine. It was an unusually warm August day, and Sasha’s face was flushed from the heat despite the air-conditioned drive from town. Yassar looked across at her in the back seat. Either she’ll come with me or she won’t.
The car stopped. Sasha walked on his arm, head characteristically aloft, smiling at him. At the front door she dropped his arm and darted ahead to precede him into the entrance hallway, then suddenly turned to face him.
“Tea?” she asked.
“That would be nice.”
He followed her toward the kitchen. She seemed to have boundless energy compressed into that muscular five-foot-four inch body. Over the last few years as she’d flowered, he had already seen her youthful encyclopedia of allures: cocks of her head, pouts, expressions ranging from the bored to the tempestuous. Sasha had years earlier cast off the innocence of a teenager and allowed her innate sensuousness to blossom unrestrained. Surely a worldly young lady like this can’t be so scandalized at the mere fact of the proposal.
Sasha and Yassar established themselves at the simple table in the staff’s dining room off the kitchen. They would take a respite from their shopping expedition, munching shortbread cookies and sipping tea, prior to the inevitable Grand Drama that the Countess would create out of dinner.
Yassar watched Sasha carefully. He couldn’t remember whether he had ever noticed before that her alabaster skin seemed not to have pores, it was so flawlessly smooth and luminous. She was now sixteen and like a ripe piece of fruit, an enticement to those who would savor her. And now that he would offer to pluck her—for his son—he anticipated experiencing the thrill and the fury of her womanhood, the power she could exert. He knew now from his quickened pulse and rushing emotions he had made the right choice for Ibrahim. And this is a girl of sixteen!
He reached his hand across the table and rested it on hers. “Sasha, there’s a question I’ve been waiting for an appropriate time to ask you all day.”
“I suspected something.” She looked up and met his gaze, then looked back down at the table. She clasped her other hand on top of his. “You’ve been very serious, very mysterious.”
She’s not making this easy for me. “You’ve heard me mention my son, Ibrahim, many many times. As you know, he’s coming of age now and I’m grooming him to one day be a leader of the Saudi Arabian people. He’s beginning to travel, assume greater responsibility, and in a few years he’ll be going off to Harvard, where he’s already been given early acceptance for study in economics and political science.” He saw Sasha frown. She was perplexed, he knew, and pushed on. “In short, he’s maturing and leading a fast-paced, exciting life. He’s surrounded by interesting people, and I’m equally interested in ensuring he has female companionship worthy of his future status in the world. Women who are able to keep him challenged and help keep him on the path of his ambitions.”
Yassar felt Sasha’s hands go limp and saw her raise her head and meet his gaze, her mouth open with dawning incredulousness.
“I’d like you to come back to Saudi Arabia with me to be a live-in guest at the Royal Palace. You and I have always enjoyed each other’s company. I’m sure you would be an equally entertaining presence for Prince Ibrahim.”
Sasha pulled her hands back from Yassar and placed them in her lap. She sat straight upright in the chair, her lips drawn tight together, her eyes wide as if in terror. “Are you suggesting…?” She looked away from him and swallowed hard, then met his gaze again. “What would I be doing there?”
Surely a girl of your worldliness can figure that out. Your reaction tells me you already have. “Why, anything you wish. At least within the context of entertaining my son, and don’t underestimate the degree to which you can be entertained and pampered yourself. I needn’t remind you how wealthy the kingdom of…”
“Yassar, whatever were you thinking when you decided to approach me on this?” Sasha’s face showed a mixture of disbelief and pain, her upper lip beginning to tremble.
Let’s get this over with. Perhaps I should be more direct. “Surely a young lady with your desires can appreciate how such an arrangement can be to your own satisfaction as well. It is a life most girls can only dream about.”
Sasha raised her head, looking him in the eye, first with steel showing, then expressionlessly, then her eyes displaying a look of shame. He averted his eyes.
Yassar thought of abandoning the plan, but discarded his doubts when he reminded himself that she would transfix Ibrahim, and how she affected even him. She would settle the young prince down, keep his mind on his studies in a way the other young concubines could not. Sasha would exhaust Ibrahim’s wanderlust and carnal lust, binding him to home like a stray dog compelled to the neighborhood by a poodle in heat.
“You can come and go as you please, at least within the bounds of the social customs and expectations of women in the Saudi Kingdom. You will be provided with a lucrative monthly allowance in addition to having all your needs cared for.”
The spirit returned to Sasha’s eyes. “You’ve mentioned how much you’ll be paying me. How much are you paying Christina?”
Yassar looked back into Sasha’s eyes, seeing not just a sense of betrayal, but stern disapproval. All right, if you’re going to insist upon calling me a pimp, I’ll deal with you in a businesslike fashion. “Christina’s situation is well known to you.” He observed her calmly, as though he was lecturing one of his children. Or one of his wives. “You yourself approached me some time ago soliciting my help in persuading Naser to provide for her, knowing full well what you were asking.” He saw her body go limp as his words struck at her. “No one is holding a gun to your head. What I’m offering you is the opportunity to be maintained in a lavish lifestyle, travel around the world with my son, keep him company in an arrangement you might find to your liking. Beyond the three or four years that I have conceived, you may wish to stay indefinitely. What I am offering you is an opportunity to fulfill your wildest imagination. And, yes, Christina will be well taken care of, which is perhaps her only chance left. You must know she is nearly broke. And what will she do then? What will you do?”
Sasha shot up from the table, pushing her chair back in her fury. Yassar saw the rage in her eyes and met her gaze as forcefully as he could. What a will! Exciting!
“I’m utterly horrified! How could you!” Without another word Sasha disappeared from the room.
Five minutes later Sasha charged through the door to the Countess’ suite, her chest heaving and her heart screaming in pain. “Christina!” she called, her eyes darting around the room, then settling on the closed bathroom door. It flew open as she approached it, the Countess’ robed form glaring at her, her hair still dripping wet from the shower.
“What on earth compels you to burst in here like this!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I’m just so offended…so mortified…”
“What is it, child,” the Countess said and stepped forward to grab Sasha by the shoulders. She ushered her into a chair. “Now sit down and control yourself and tell me what’s wrong.”
It’s Yassar, he wants me to go be his son’s—paid woman!” You can’t even bring yourself so say the word ‘whore’, can you? She clutched at the Countess’ hand, afraid to let go, and now tears were beginning to well in her eyes.
The Countess pulled away from her and backed up a few steps. She raised her chin and looked down at Sasha through eyes still glazed with intoxicants. “Well of course he’s invited you to go live in Saudi Arabia, but I’m not certain I’d narrow it to that perspective.”
Sasha looked up at the Countess in disbelief. Oh my God! What is she saying? “You mean you know?” She clutched her bosom with both hands.
“Of course, child, he spoke with me about it this morning. I think it’s a tremendous opportunity for you.”
“Tremendous opportunity!”
The Countess backed against the wall, her arms te
nse and her hands pressed flat against it, as if she were preparing to defend herself from Sasha springing at her throat at any second. “Yes! Opportunity!”
Sasha advanced toward her, her hair shooting off in all directions, as though she’d been electrified. Her back was rigid and she thrust her chest forward, like a girl daring a schoolboy in the playground. “Dammit! You talk like you’re sending me off to boarding school!”
“Quiet! Yassar will hear you!”
“Then let him hear me! What do I care?”
“I thought you admired Yassar.”
“What does admiring or not admiring Yassar have to do with becoming his son’s—”
The Countess scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s invited you to live with his son in the palace, to keep you in style and lavish you with money, gifts, whatever you can possibly imagine—do you honestly understand how rich these people are? And all you can think about is some trite nonsense about money for services. Really!”
Sasha felt tears coming. She focused on her anger to force away the pain, then lost to it as desperate thoughts flashed through her mind. How can you do this? You’re all I’ve got. I’m all you’ve got. Except for the drugs. Has the opium really so consumed you? “Damn you!” She’s selling me! “How much is he paying you?”
The Countess merely looked away.
“How much?”
The Countess gazed back at Sasha, then crossed her arm in front of her stomach in her unique way. “My financial affairs are none of your business. No one is compelling you to do anything. Make up your mind,” she said flatly. “But remember, you’ve got few other options.”
“Damn you, Christina. I do too. I’ll run off.”
“Where? You don’t have any money, and I can’t possibly imagine you getting your hands dirty. You haven’t been raised for it.”
“You’d cut me off?”
The Countess arched her head back. “Silly child. There’s nothing left. At least to speak of. Just look around the walls, dear. The pictures are all gone.”
Sasha felt her heart was going to explode, then her brain.
Sasha walked out onto the patio. She felt the heat of the fieldstones through her shoes and smelled the scent of the pines as she looked out over the grandeur of the greenery that tumbled down the hill to the valley—the Countess’ hill and Countess’ valley—that extended to the town of Vevey and to Lake Geneva itself. Now she realized that one way or another she wouldn’t be able to call this place home anymore. If I don’t go, what happens to both of us? Tears singed at her eyes. The pain in her throat became unbearable.
After a minute she stepped forward, smeared the tears from her face, and rested her palms on the limestone railing. The grounding sense of the stone settled her. She stood there, her chest heaving. She gradually raised her head, straightened her back. The muscles in her stomach hurt. I guess I could forgive Christina because of the drugs. But Yassar? He’s one of the few people I thought who understood me, whom I could talk to. Her knees buckled and she rested her hips on the railing, turning to face the house. She felt for a moment as if she would tumble over backward, dizzy from her confusion.
Come on, get control of yourself. She forced herself to think. She realized that her life here with the Countess was over. Even if she refused, which she wasn’t sure she could do, why would she want to continue living here with Christina now? Yet where else would she go? Defiance and anger empowered her. All right, damn you. Damn you both. Only one thing to do. Make the best of it until I can see a way out. That, and save enough money to never need anybody again.
CHAPTER 12
AUGUST, TWENTY-THREE YEARS AGO. ABOARD a Saudi Royal Family Lear Jet. Although the rumble of jet engines normally made Sasha sleepy, this flight was different. Sleep wasn’t an option her nerves and emotions would allow. In the absence of that release from the dissonance of her reality, she distracted herself by focusing on the G-force of acceleration, the change in cabin pressure as they ascended, and a comparison of the pervasive aroma of new leather in the opulent cabin to the scents of her tack when she’d saddled her horse the previous day. Anything to keep her crumpled heart from wailing.
A mere five minutes into the flight, anguish burned through her dissembling mind. If Christina could betray me…if Yassar…then who do I have? Her body was rigid, muscles taut, synapses on overload. Nobody. She began to tremble. Who, what can I believe in now? Was she truly alone?
She looked at Yassar, dressed in Saudi robes and headdress, quietly reading his Koran in the seat across from her. She affected nonchalance, but her thoughts were still racked with periodic shrieks from a disbelieving heart. Or is it my soul?
She went to the lavatory and looked herself in the mirror. You can’t very well just ask them to turn this thing around. You made a decision. Thought it through with a clear head. Now make the best you can out of it. She saw traces of red in her eyes. Fear too, and was certain others would perceive it.
She emerged. Yassar had put away his Koran and turned his chair toward hers, across the table set up between them.
“I suppose I should tell you something of what will be expected of you. And what you should expect to see when we arrive.” He used the same gentle manner she had always known.
“All right,” she said.
“Riyadh is one of the conservative religious bastions of the Saudi kingdom.” He applied some jam to a piece of toast. “The Mutawwa’iin, the Saudi religious police, are charged with enforcing the standards of Islamic behavior, and are welcomed in Riyadh rather than feared. As you may know, among the standards of shari’a, our Islamic law, which they enforce, are standards for the behavior of women.”
“So I’ve heard.” Her legs were stiff. She suddenly felt crowded by the walls of the aircraft cabin.
“Women traditionally wear a full-length black covering known as the abaya. In addition, they must cover their heads with a hijav veil, a headscarf that hides their hair from public view. Men and women beyond childhood years may not mingle in public areas unless they are family or close relatives.” He smiled. “Of course, as one associated with the royal family, certain privileges apply, and you may be allowed in public accompanied by Royal Guards.”
When you think things can’t get any worse, think again. She stifled a moan. So how do I stop myself from thinking?
“And what about when I’m at home?” Her mind conjured the image of her sitting in a room full of black-draped women, afraid to file their fingernails. She thought of the breathless ride through the brush on the north face the previous day on Sable, her unruly yearling; the backless gown she’d worn to dinner with Baroness and Baron de Moulin that caused his eyes to linger on her throughout the evening; the kick of the 16-gauge shotgun she liked to use for quail. Never again?
“Saudi women wear any type of clothing they choose, provided it’s not attention-seeking by being either too revealing, too tight, or too short. Clothing that presents women as ‘naked even though they are clothed,’ which stirs the passions of men and tempts them, is not only considered contrary to the teachings, but unfair, unkind, and not sensible. Most Western blouses, even those with long sleeves, which are thin enough to reveal the underwear beneath are not approved of.” He scrutinized her like a strict professor. “In your private chambers, and with Ibrahim, of course it is another matter.”
“I see,” she said. Maybe I should just open the door and jump out. She felt her muscles in her abdomen convulse and a pain in her heart as if it were being crushed by his words. Yassar, please stop this.
Yassar placed his hand on hers. She pulled it back into her lap. “My dear, I’m not attempting to frighten you or lead you to believe you’ll be unable to conduct yourself largely as you’ve been accustomed.” His drooping eyes were soft and gentle again; he was the Yassar she knew. “I simply don’t want you to wind up getting carted off by the Mutawwa’iin, for example, for riding a bicycle. Or something you might ordinarily take for granted and not realize would be looked a
skance at in our culture. And I don’t want you to embarrass the royal family, since you will be associated with us. Things will not be so difficult. Or unpleasant. You’ll see.”
Sasha felt her eyes beginning to burn. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. She turned to the window, tried not to think, counted the rivets around the window frame. But a voice within her accosted her. I’m lost. I’m disappearing into a void.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. There they were in the distance: the twenty-two-karat gold, onion domes of the 1700-room Royal Palace glittering in the sun. As the limousine carrying Sasha and Yassar neared the white stucco perimeter walls surrounding the Royal Palace’s grounds, they passed nondescript gray and brown-colored commercial shops and residential apartment buildings, piled on top of each other in angular cinder-block and concrete. A few robed figures peered into the tinted windows of the passing limo. Sasha didn’t meet their gaze, as if to shrink from her shame. She smelled the omnipresent Saudi dust even inside the air-conditioned car. Better get used to it. She was now terribly aware of the coarse fabric of her abaya against her skin. This too.